


Cravings

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-15
Updated: 2001-04-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:51:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: What Krycek wants, and has always wanted, frightens even him.





	Cravings

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Cravings by Jessica Harris

Cravings  
by Jessica Harris  
12/99

* * *

Christ I hate this. I'm acting like some love-struck teen. Like some love-struck teen with a grievance, Daddy's shotgun, and a direct bead on the prom-queen's window. I'm losing my fucking mind here. He's fucking stolen it from me.

I mean, look at me - it's a million goddam degrees below zero out here, my hands are so numb I can't even feel the binoculars any more, and I can't remember the last time I ate. There are other places I should be, other jobs I should be doing. But I can't. I just can't tear myself away.

Sometimes I think he knows I'm here. He rubs at the back of his neck as though he can feel me watching, or stands at the window for long minutes, staring out with an expression that is ... not frightened, exactly, but... searching.

And the crazy thing is, I think if I came down from this roof, and broke in there, he might just let me take him. I'm not blind. I've seen the way he looks at me, underneath the anger, I've felt the way his body responds. I could do it.

But -

I keep thinking about this time that I nearly died, as a child, breaking into my grandmother's bee-hives. I was stung so badly I was in hospital for ages. And no one understood. "But Alex," my grandmother said "I would have given you honey if you had asked," and there was no way I could tell them that it wasn't just the honey I wanted, I wanted whatever the bees had that they could *make* the honey, that sweetness I craved. I wanted that thing for myself. And I've never been very good at asking.

And with Mulder, the things I want frighten even me. I want to fuck him bareback, raw, want him to share in all my poisons. I want to know what he tastes like, not just his cock, and his asshole, but his blood, the surface of his eyeballs. I want to climb right inside of him and scratch my initials on his bones. And I have this dream sometimes, that I'm segmenting his head like an orange, just to get at what's inside. And he just lets me, just sits there smiling until there's not enough left of him to smile. And that's when I realise that I can't put him together again, that all I'm holding in my hands now is blood and pulp.

And I'm afraid that's how it would end, me on my knees in some cheap motel, his blood all over me, as panic rises sour in my belly at what I've done. And him just lying there, whatever it was I was searching for gone forever.

So for now I stay out here, watching. And I try not to think about it, about coming down from here. About going over there....

***

  
Archived: 21:11 03/15/01 


End file.
